Saving Sarah

by Gail Ranstrom

  She undressed quickly, talking over the screen to bring Annica up-to-date as she did. “Reggie wants to host a fete in ten days. Will you help, Nica?”

  “I should love to,” Annica called over the screen. “I am delighted that the Hunters are coming out of mourning. This will definitely be perceived as good news to half the marriageable men in London.”

  “You exaggerate,” Sarah chuckled. “And you know that will go nowhere. But do you think I should invite the Whitlocks?”

  “Indeed! Let Mr. Whitlock think he is advancing in society. ’Twill play into his vanity and keep Mrs. Whitlock safe a little longer.”

  Sarah slipped her new gown over her head, being careful of the few remaining pins. The fabric billowed to the floor in a graceful drape, the light silk as cool and soft as a caress against her skin. When she came around the dressing screen and stepped onto the stool, Annica tilted her head and sighed.

  “Oh, Sarah! That color! The shade matches your eyes exactly. You must wear more of it.”

  “There! C’est vraie! Did I not tell you, chérie?” Madame said, pinning the hem quickly and allowing for a small train in back. She stood and walked around Sarah, evaluating her work. “I think…yes, the décolletage should be lower—oui?”

  Sarah looked down at the dark violet, a shade so deep it was nearly plum. “Oh, I do not think—” but a few quick snips of Madame’s scissors made disagreement impossible.

  Madame stepped back, a triumphant smile on her face. “ Voilà! I trim with ribbon, yes? And embroider green silk leaves? At Lady Annica’s ball you will outshine everyone, little Lady Sarah. Now put on your clothes, eh?”

  Sarah stepped down from the stool and ducked behind the dressing screen. When she heard the door close, she whispered, “Nica, how can I wear that dress now? I will feel so…so exposed. And Reggie—”

  “Reggie will be very much encouraged that you are baiting the hook, Sarah. You looked stunning. Were I a man…”

  A little frisson of tension ran up her spine. Making a quick decision, she sat beside Annica and forged into unknown territory. “Nica, I was wondering if…well, Mama died when I was very young, and—”

  “Ah, I see,” Annica nodded. Her lips curved in a slight smile and she studied the cuticles of her left hand intently. “Of course, Sarah. You may ask me anything.”

  “Well, ah, I wondered if…men—I mean marriage—is entirely distasteful. I know you avoided it as long as you could, but you seem quite content now that ’tis done.”

  The color in Annica’s cheeks deepened. “Actually, Sarah, it is not distasteful in the least.” She looked up, meeting Sarah’s gaze. “Is Reggie pressing you to marry again?”

  “I must know, for my own peace of mind, whether the marriage act is painful and degrading every time, or if one becomes used to it. Or if it simply comes to matter less.”

  Annica’s eyes widened. “I should have guessed what you’ve been thinking! I am so sorry I did not set your mind at ease sooner.” The sound of the shop bell followed by happy chatter reached them. Annica leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Sarah, I actually look forward to my private time with Auberville. He is most gentle and kind, and has never caused me the least little pain or discomfort. To the contrary, he…he brings me great joy.”

  She glanced over her shoulder toward the door and rushed on. “What Farmingdale and the others did to you is not what husbands and wives do. But, that said, I cannot imagine ever, ah, lying with anyone but Auberville. I collect you must bear affection for the man for it to be truly enjoyable.”

  Enjoyable? The best she had hoped for was that she could endure such an encounter without panicking. And yet…and yet Ethan had done things to her that set her every nerve to quivering, and left her yearning vaguely for more. Could Annica be right? Could there be enjoyment in such circumstances?

  Ethan waited patiently while Sarah danced a quadrille with his grace, the Duke of Dunsmore, attempting to fully comprehend the enormity of her lies. After his discovery last night, his every instinct demanded retribution. What would satisfy his pride? Public exposure? A cautionary word to her brother? Private or public denouncement?

  Her willow-green gown flared at the hem as she made a quick turn and her rose-tinted lips curved in a smile. Black lashes swept cheeks flushed with excitement, and the remarkable violet eyes sparkled in the candlelight. Tendrils of rich brown hair escaped the green ribbon and curled around her face.

  He envisioned her as she’d been last night, vulnerable and innocent as she lay in his bed. He had actually thought he could offer her his protection, the security of a safe, warm place to live, and the comfort of affection. And all along, she’d had a reputation and position in society that put her above his reach. His pride had taken some bitter blows these past few years, but this was the worst—Sarah had been slumming when she’d come to him.

  The dance ended and he watched as she dropped a chaste kiss on his grace’s weathered cheek. Lord Nigel grinned widely and returned the favor before removing a handkerchief from his vest pocket and mopping his brow. Had he not known her for the deceitful little chit she was, he’d have sworn Sarah was genuinely fond of the old man.

  Dunsmore said something and she laughed, the same genuine, unaffected amusement that had first drawn him in the King’s Head Tavern, and he knew he could not ruin her, or expose her deceits. Ah, but he could, and would, have his pound of flesh. ’Twas only fair, after all.

  His patience paid off when she bobbed a quick curtsy and turned toward the hallway in the direction of the ladies’ retiring room. He moved from the shadows in a line to cut her off. When he took her arm and pulled her into a curtained alcove, she gasped in surprise. Breathless, she searched his face for a clue as to his intent.

  “Sadie,” he whispered, keeping his expression completely neutral, “I watched you with Dunsmore. You could be hanged if you put your hand in his pocket.”

  She looked momentarily confused, then a flicker of chagrin crossed her features. “And you, Mr. Travis, must be very careful at these soirees. Think how embarrassed you will be if you are caught talking to the likes of me.”

  How deftly she had turned the tables on him! Well done, Sarah, he silently acknowledged. He responded, “And what are ‘the likes of you’?”

  “I, ah.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You know what I am, Mr. Travis. Do not ask me to speak it aloud.”

  He grinned, enjoying her discomfort. “Ask one of your…patrons to introduce us. Once that formality has been breached, we may be seen to talk without causing comment.”

  Chagrin played across that lovely face. “If we are seen together, and should anyone ask you, who shall you say I am? An acquaintance of his grace, Lord Dunsmore? A light skirt? A common demimondaine?”

  “Is that not how Dunsmore and the others know you?” He could not help but grin when he saw the trapped look cross her face. He could afford to show mercy now that he’d caused her considerable discomfort, but no. She was still deep in her lie, and he had just begun.

  The little baggage frowned. “Then how shall I tell others that I know you?”

  “Who will ask, Sadie?” He shrugged. “Does anyone think you are aught but what you are?”

  “Well…”

  “Have you assumed a false name for society?”

  “They do not know me as…Sadie Hunt,” she admitted.

  “Suppose you tell me what story you have cast about, and I will swear to it,” he offered.

  Her cheeks infused with a deep pink, and she gazed at her slippers rather keenly. “I, um, think we should avoid one another in public, Mr. Travis. That is the best way to forestall any awkward questions.”

  Oh, of course she would prefer that. How could she ever explain her relationship with the Demon of Alsatia to her haute ton friends, let alone her hotheaded brothers? He gave her a wicked smile. “If you wish, Miss Hunt.”

  Ah, but he had no intention of abandoning her to her own devices on her nightly prowls. He had yet
to discover what she was up to, and he was still too much of a gentleman to ignore the risk that she would fall victim to another cudgel-wielding villain. He was likely one that Kilgrew had hired to find Whitlock’s blackmail evidence. He had no doubt that Kilgrew’s men would be every bit as ruthless as his. Yes, he acknowledged with a sigh, he was still obliged to save Sarah—even from herself. He released her arm and stepped back, allowing her room to escape. “I shall expect to see you tonight at half past two. Our usual place?”

  Her head popped up, and her pansy eyes were filled with gratitude. “Yes, thank you. I feared, after last night, that you would not want to help me ever again.”

  “What?” He laughed. “Did you think me so conceited a lout that a simple refusal would cause me to withdraw my friendship? We’ve been through that before, Sadie.”

  “You are a better friend than I deserve,” she said.

  She did not know the half of it, he thought. He could not resist one final gibe. “I enjoy your company more than any of these brainless little society creatures. I’ve yet to meet one worth common table salt.”

  She gave him a weak smile before stepping out of the alcove and continuing down the corridor.

  Dressed in Andrew’s castoffs, Sarah sat hunched over her tankard of ale in a dark corner of the King’s Head Tavern. Mr. Renquist droned on about the dangers of capering abroad dressed as a boy. As if she did not know the danger well enough after being knocked on the head last night! She could not even think of it without a stab of fear slicing through her.

  Ethan was making her very nervous, too. Something had changed. His manner at the ball earlier had been cooler, less concerned. Challenging. She was feeling edgy, almost bubbling with anxiety. Like a moth flirting with flame, she was drawn to Ethan, compelled beyond reason to come closer, yet fearing it would be the end of her. And not caring! Her heartbeat sped as she remembered his kiss—the softness of his lips, the sweet urging of his tongue, the heat of his breath on her skin as he dropped his attention to her neck, her throat…

  She was terrified of taking the risk of loving Ethan, unwilling to chance her hard-won peace and self-confidence. And yet…and yet she knew that she’d come to an end of some sort. She dared not go forward, but she had gone too far to turn back. It was time to make a decision.

  “…and furthermore, you are in over your head. You cannot know how dangerous this is.”

  Sarah came back to the conversation with a guilty start. Any thought of telling Mr. Renquist that she’d been hit over the head was quickly discarded. She raised her eyes from her tankard and sighed. “I understand your apprehension, sir, but I am seldom alone. Dicken and Joe are never far, and Mr. Tr—that is, there are others who are looking out for me.”

  “Others?” Francis Renquist’s eyes narrowed.

  “People who are expert in this sort of thing.”

  “ I am expert in this sort of thing. Leave this investigation to me, Lady Sarah, before disaster overtakes you.”

  Sarah blinked in consternation. “Of course, but…” Disclosing Ethan’s identity would only provoke another long lecture. “I simply want to assure you that I am not alone.”

  Renquist lowered his brows in a scowl. “What have you done, milady? Who have you got yourself mixed up with?”

  She suppressed her anxiety and refused to meet his gaze. “I have been very careful, Mr. Renquist. I offer as proof the fact that we have recovered two of the Whitlock children. Only Benjamin’s whereabouts remain unknown. Time is our enemy. Mr. Whitlock will discover that Araminta and Teddy are missing and, when he does, he will seize Benjamin and hide him where he will never be found. Thus we must find Benjamin at once.”

  “The more I learn, the less I like it. This Whitlock is a villain and has got himself involved in some nasty business.” He paused as if to measure her determination and sighed, abandoning his lecture. “I have one lead. One of my men reports that a workhouse in Cheapside has got a few new lads. He is looking into the matter.”

  She was almost afraid to hope. “I pray he is there and safe. Meantime, I shall continue my strategy of following Mr. Whitlock. That has worked rather well.”

  Mr. Renquist glanced over his shoulder and then leaned forward, dropping his voice in earnest. “You are putting yourself in disaster’s path.”

  “If I could recover Benjamin without waiting for Whitlock to lead me to him I would do so, but your information could take too long. Can you not see that the situation is critical?”

  “Aye, critical indeed. And that is why you must stay out of it.”

  “Where is this workhouse, Mr. Renquist? Do you have an address?”

  “Not yet. I’ll send word to you once I have the details.”

  She heard a church bell chime twice. She needed to meet Ethan soon and would have to run the whole way if she could not catch a passing coach. No time for further argument. “When shall we meet again, Mr. Renquist?”

  “I need a few days to gather the necessary information and verify the report. I will send for you if I have news sooner.”

  “A few days?” Her heart dropped. She could not wait that long to search for Benjamin. Despite the danger, she would have to proceed on her own. She nodded. “Day after tomorrow. Covent Garden at three in the afternoon. By the flower market.”

  “Aye, Lady Sarah. Be careful until then.”

  Ethan watched Sarah take the wide steps of the west porch two at a time. She glanced around quickly, missing him in the shadows, and ducked behind a column on the far right. She bent slightly to peer around the base and her snug trousers molded to her decidedly feminine bottom. Ethan’s breath caught in a soft groan. Knowing who she was may have put her out of his reach, but it couldn’t stop him from growing tight with need. He cursed himself and struggled for self-control.

  She fidgeted, obviously waiting for him. If she had any sense at all, she would be nervous from the attack last night. She drew her jacket tighter and shivered in the damp night air, and he wondered what would drive a pampered society darling to masquerade as a boy and brave the elements to prowl London streets? How far was she willing to go to gain her ends?

  Ah, but the real meat of the matter was this—how many lies would she tell to keep her secret, and were there any risks she would not take? Any lengths to which she would not go?

  The answer to that question was almost as important to him as repaying his debt to Lord Kilgrew and putting that part of his life behind him. Lady Sarah Hunter would not give him satisfaction between the sheets, but she would damn well give him satisfaction in the answers to those questions.

  He straightened and took a deep breath, a plan forming in his mind as he stepped out of the shadows and went toward her.

  The man who was currently following their quarry had just sent word that Whitlock was comfortably ensconced at a corner table at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.

  “Ready?” he asked with a note of challenge in his voice. “My man has located our target in Holburn.”

  She turned, the excitement of the chase dancing in her eyes, and nodded. “Lay on, Macduff.”

  She really was incorrigible.

  He set a brutal pace, knowing she would have difficulty keeping up. She did not complain, but he slowed slightly when he heard her footsteps falling farther behind. He did not want to make this easy for her, but neither did he want to lose her rounding some dark corner.

  Deciding on a shortcut, he headed down a narrow alley and smiled when he saw a stone wall. Ah, this would confound his little dilettante. He hitched himself up and swung his legs over the wall. Sarah’s dismayed face was the last thing he saw as he dropped to the street on the other side.

  Grinning, he whispered, “C’mon, Sadie. Whitlock will leave before we get there.”

  After a moment of scuffling, he heard her reply. “I cannot reach. And I cannot swing my legs over.”

  He leaned against the wall, laughing silently. When he could trust his voice, he replied, “I will meet you halfway.” He pulled himself
up to the top again and reached one hand down to Sarah. “Grab hold, Sadie. You will have to learn this technique if you are going to work for Mr. Renquist.”

  She reached up and put her hand in his. The warmth and softness of her flesh caused him a momentary twinge of conscience, quickly ignored. He gripped her wrist, not trusting the strength of her hand, and pulled her up until she was able to straddle the wall. He dropped to the street and turned to her.

  Fearless. That’s what she was. She was braced to push off from the wall and follow him. She’d break her ankle landing on the cobblestones from such a height. He moved to block her and cushion her fall and she fell directly into his arms. He allowed her to slide slowly down the length of his body. Her little gasp told him she was as stirred by the experience as he. Her eyes closed as she lifted her lips, inviting—nay, expecting—a kiss.

  Gaining control over his own baser instincts, he bent his head to within inches of hers and whispered, “Having fun, Sadie?” He knew he was enjoying having the advantage for once.

  The long lashes fluttered open. “You are a difficult task maker tonight.”

  “You did not think ‘following’ would be all rooftops, alleys and taverns, did you? We’ve barely scratched the surface of what you need to learn.”

  “H-how much more?” she whispered, her lips still inches from his.

  “There are fences, walls, thoroughfares, crowds, daylight and more. Can you ride astraddle? Hire a coach? Have you ever entered a gaming hell, an opium den, a bawdy house?” He paused meaningfully. “Oh, of course you have been in a bawdy house, but it looks different from the customer’s side. I should think you would not be able to hire a woman, but then there is much I do not know about you, eh?”

  Sarah gasped and stepped back from the circle of his arms. Her face registered a quick flash of fear before it smoothed over again. “Lay on,” she said.

  Although he’d deliberately inspired it, the knowledge that she feared him angered him. He turned away and set off for Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese at the same relentless pace, listening for her footfalls behind him.